


Memento Mori

by RingingSilence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Daisy shoots Jon after the Unknowing, Dark, Like, Murder, The Author Regrets Everything, Tim survives, Tim-centric, brief description of gunshot wounds, everything falls apart, i don't know what this is i'm so sorry, lots of death, mentions of vomit, more than canon, series of disconnected scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingingSilence/pseuds/RingingSilence
Summary: Daisy's plan for the Unknowing, including after, goes off without a hitch.This does not make things better.(i.e. Daisy isn't eaten by the coffin, Tim survives the explosion and everything still falls apart)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89





	Memento Mori

Tim Stoker was cursed. That was the only explanation that made sense. That’s why Danny was the one who was killed and Tim got to watch Grimaldi crawl out of his skin. That was why Sasha died alone while he was being devoured by worms in dingy tunnels, and he didn’t even notice for over a year. 

It was why Jon pulled him bleeding but alive from the wreckage of the wax museum and Tim was able to forget for just a moment how much he hated him. Just long enough for Jon to smile and do that soft huffing laugh of his before terror wiped it out and he shoved Tim away, _“Tim, Tim ru—“_ , and blood painted Tim’s skin, hot and wet. The gunshot echoed in the ruins but Jon was utterly silent as he slumped forward, hair glistening from the hole the bullet had punched through his head. 

He hadn’t even seen Daisy approaching them. 

It was a struggle to drag his eyes up from Jon’s corpse, but it became easier when he noticed she still had the gun raised. “Why?”

She reloaded the gun, completely casual. “He did what we needed him to do.”

The blood was still warm on his face as she pointed it at him. He stared at it, paralyzed. “What are you doing?”

“You’re tied to the Institute. For all I know you’re a monster like him. Better to tie up loose ends while I have the chance.”

Tim could see Basira behind her, watching them. He kept waiting for her to step forward, to say something, to do _anything_ , but she just stood there in the shadows while Daisy held a gun to his head.

The low wail of a siren was what saved him, in the end. Daisy winced at the noise, lips pulled back from her teeth, and Basira finally, _finally_ stepped forward to usher her away. Tim watched them go while red and blue light began to dance across the shattered concrete and the puddle around Jon seeped into his jeans. 

\---

“Get out. _Get out!_ ” 

There was something viciously satisfying about watching Basira’s calm and collected mask crack. She didn’t get up from the spare desk they’d crammed in beside Melanie’s, but there was almost fear in her eyes as Tim stared at her from the doorway. Melanie was there before he could cross the threshold, keeping him back with stronger hands than some gave her credit for.

“Tim, calm down. That’s Basira—“

“You let her do it,” he shouted past her. “You let your crazy partner shoot Jon, and she would’ve shot me too if the police hadn’t shown up when they did!”

Melanie, so easy to anger these days, turned to their fellow assistant for answers but Tim would’ve bet Basira’s face answered plenty even before she spoke. “Basira?”

“Jon wasn’t human, not anymore, and we don’t know if the bond to the Institute’s changing you, too.”

Tim scoffed. “She wouldn’t have killed you though, would she? There’s no way you could be secretly turning into a monster, but the rest of us are fair game.”

Basira’s lips pressed into a thin line, locking in the answer they both knew already anyway.

Melanie let go of Tim, but not before he felt her hands begin to shake. “…You need to go.”

“Melanie—“

“And tell Daisy she’d better stay away. You’re not welcome here. Either of you.”

It took more effort than Tim wanted to admit to move over so the cop could leave. Melanie stood beside him, arms crossed, as they watched Basira gracefully make her exit. Once the clunking of her footsteps on the stairs had faded away a tense, ringing silence filled the space left behind. 

\---- 

“Where’s Martin?”

“Where do you think? Where he always is, when he’s not arguing with Lukas.”

“Hm…”

There was the steady thunk of a knife hitting Basira’s desk, the only disturbance to the quiet besides their lowered voices. “Have you gone to seen him?”

“Jon? No.” He picked at a phantom fleck of blood on his cheek. “You?”

“Just the once. Figured Martin needed the emotional support, y’know?”

Silence slid back in. The archives were quieter these days, without Basira. Without Martin. There was a tea mug resting on the corner of Martin’s desk, gathering dust as the days passed. He still came down and tried to work sometimes but when the only other assistants left deliberately avoided doing anything even passively helpful it was probably easier to hole up in a different part of the Institute. Tim spared a moment to wonder if Martin still talked to Basira, then shut the thought down when it just made him angry. 

“Someone should talk to him. Make sure he’s alright.”

Tim grunted. Neither of them moved.

\--- 

“Why didn’t you protect her?”

Tim’s shoulder throbbed, probably already bruising from hitting the wall when Daisy shoved him, but he didn’t have the energy to acknowledge it. His shirt still stuck to his skin with sweat and every time he blinked he saw blood creeping across polished tiles and misshapen things that were once people. “I’m sorry, I thought that was your job,” he spat.  
She shoved him again, pinning him to the plaster with fingers that dug into his sternum. “She was alone thanks to you chasing her out of the archives. Did you even think to go looking for her?”

“I’m sorry, I was a little preoccupied with not getting killed by the army of twisted flesh-monsters at the time.”

She growled, low and animalistic and there was a sharp glint in her eyes as she leaned in so they were nose-to-nose. Her fingers clenched in a fist in the front of his shirt, heedless of the still slightly-tacky bloodstains. “I should have killed you,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away from the museum.”

He grinned back at her. “Maybe. You gonna fix that?”

She growled again, her free hand darting towards her hip, and Tim braced himself to fight because there was no way he was going to make it easy for her. 

“Stop it!”

Tim jolted. Daisy hesitated, eyes still locked with his, before letting him go and stepping back. Her scowl didn’t lose heat as she turned it on Martin, but Martin just strode forward to stand between her and Tim. 

“The flesh avatars were the ones that killed Basira, not Tim,” he said firmly. Tim almost didn’t notice the slight rasp in his voice, the shadows carving hollows under his eyes. 

“Because no one was there to back her up.”

“Maybe, but you weren’t there either.” 

Slowly, she stepped back towards the stairs. “This isn’t over.”

“Don’t let Melanie catch you down here,” Tim replied. “She’s been getting extra stabby since the attack.”

Once she was gone Martin started to follow. He flinched when Tim grabbed his arm to stop him. “Where have you been?”

“Helping with the clean-up upstairs. You should too, if you’re not hurt.”

“I meant lately. You haven’t been down to the archives in days.”

“Mr. Lukas has been getting my help with something.” He firmly pulled away. “If you’ll excuse me.”

\--- 

He should have been used to the smell by now. The sharp tang of it, the heavy metallic taste on the air. Maybe it was just in the new context of being in the archives that caught him off guard. In any case Tim stood frozen on the threshold to the assistants’ office, staring blankly at the mess while somewhere a steady _plink, plink, plink_ softly held the silence at bay. A dark pool blocked his entry to the room, and looking down at his own reflection in it shouldn’t have become so familiar in such a short span of time. Eventually he managed to process the knife embedded in an overturned desk and the gun drowning on the cheap linoleum and he had to stop to vomit in the hallway before running back up the stairs. 

\--- 

Tim pounded on the office door while his heart hammered in his chest and a headache drilled into his skull and _why wasn’t Martin answering?_ “I know you’re in there, Blackwood! Don’t ignore me!”

He paused to listen for an answer, struggling to hear over the racing of his stupid pulse and the whispers of anxious memories. With Melanie gone there wasn’t anyone left to chase them away. He wasn’t going back down to the archives. Not without answers. Not alone. “Martin, talk to m—“

The door finally creaked open and he nearly fell inside in his surprise. Martin watched him from across the threshold, eyes far too distant for the mere centimeters that separated them. “What do you want?”

Being angry was so much easier than being scared. “You haven’t been back to the archives since the attack! What, you thought you could just abandon me and hide away up here forever? Thought anywhere was safer than the archives?”

Martin didn’t so much as blink. He just stared, radiating disinterest. “I’ve been promoted.”

“…What?”

“I’m Mr. Luk--… _Peter’s_ assistant now. I don’t work in the archives anymore.”

Nausea curled in the pit of Tim’s stomach. “So that’s it, then? Three years we survive together and now you’re running away.”

Some of that distance burned away into a sharp frown. “I’m not running from anything.”

“Avoiding the archives isn’t—“

“I’m trying to save you, Tim,” Martin snapped. “I couldn’t just sit back and let anyone else die so I’ve made a deal with Peter. I do what he asks and he’ll protect the Institute.”

“So, what, you trust him, now?”

“No, but someone had to do something and Jon…Jon’s not coming back. Jon’s not coming back, and you’re too busy moping, and everyone else is dead, so…so I’m it, aren’t I? So I’m going to do what Peter says and maybe, maybe, no one else is going to get murdered by worms or clowns or flesh people.” Martin took a step back, the lifelessness flooding back into his expression. “And step one is to cut ties with you.”

“Martin—“ 

The door slammed in Tim’s face.

\--- 

The room was exactly as Tim remembered it, even after six months: dull off-white walls, dull off-white sheets, dull off-white monitors arranged beside the narrow bed. The bullet hole and burns and abrasions had all long-since healed but that just made Jon look even more like a particularly carefully-prepared corpse. He just lay there, chest still and face locked in a grimace as his brain continued to whirr even without a pulse to keep it going. The only change that stood out to Tim was a vase of fresh flowers at his bedside, something small and colorful and sad.

“Have you seen Martin, then?” Tim sighed. The plastic chair creaked quietly when he eased into it. “Good, at least someone has.” 

Jon didn’t reply of course. Tim looked around the tiny room again, at the flowers and the window. At anything but the body. 

“…I don’t know what I’m doing here, to be honest. If you were going to suddenly come back to life you would’ve done it by now, right? Before we could be attacked by flesh-monsters, and Daisy and Melanie could kill each other, and Martin could go off on whatever stupid mission Lukas has him on. Did he tell you about that? Martin says he’s worked out some deal with him to protect the rest of us. All he has to do is be Lukas’ errand boy. I’m sure that nothing bad could come out of a deal like that.” Tim dropped his head into his hands, letting the heels of his palms dig into his eyes. “…You’re not even here, and it’s still all falling apart. And I’m the last man standing.”

Nothing but the hum of the air conditioning answered him. Even the machines that had been hooked up to Jon were silent and still. 

Tim leaned back in the chair, letting the front legs lift up off the floor the way that always annoyed Jon. “…Why am I still here? She was going to kill us both, right? That’s why you pushed me, at the museum. You saved me, but…how did I survive the—“

The door swung open behind him and Tim nearly unbalanced the chair in his haste to look back. The visitor was a black man: young, handsome, the kind of guy Tim would have taken a pass at without thinking back before everything. Now though, whatever had drawn Tim to the hospital was gone and he just wanted to leave. 

The man shot him a sheepish smile. “This is Jonathan Sims’ room, right?”

Something about the man made Tim hesitate. Something…off. “Who’re you?”

“Oh, you know, just an old friend coming by to visit.”

Tim let the front legs of his chair come down with a pointed clack. “I didn’t think he had friends. Not anymore, anyway.” 

The visitor just…looked at him. He looked completely harmless and yet…that wrongness kept radiating off of him, something Tim couldn’t pinpoint but that the longer he spent being looked at the less he liked.

The chair squeaked as he shoved it back to stand. “Whatever, I’ll get out of your way.” 

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too,” the stranger said. He smiled. “You’re Timothy Stoker, right?” 

A chill ran down Tim’s spine. “Who’re you?”

Still smiling, the man shut the door behind him. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve talked with anyone. I’m Oliver, Oliver Banks, but you probably know me better as Antonio Blake.”

Oliver, Antonio, whatever his name was, didn’t move from his position blocking the door. With nowhere to run, Tim settled for leaning back against Jon’s bed and trying to look unaffected. “You’ll have to jog my memory.”

“I left a statement for Gertrude Robinson,” Oliver-Antonio-whoever said. “I have dreams about peoples’ deaths.”

“Ah, right. Spooky prophetic dream-guy. If you’re here to tell me how I die I’d really rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and was startled to find a tape recorder in one, already humming as it recorded. 

“I actually came here to give Jon a statement, help push him in the right direction, but that can wait a moment.”

“What do you mean ‘the right direction’?”

Oliver shrugged. “Jon’s sort of stuck between states right now: not human enough to die, but too human to survive. The End can’t touch him like this, but he can’t wake up either. I came here to help him choose which way he wants things to go.”

“Right, and what does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just not often we get to talk to people like us.”

“Us?”

Oliver just smiled that pleasant smile. “You have to have noticed by now. It’s weird, isn’t it? The way we don’t choose what we become really, just whether we accept it.”

“I’ve had enough of this.” Tim tried to stride forward, to even do as little as to push away from the bed, but it was like his joints locked up. He couldn’t move. 

“There’s so many different ways fear affects us,” Oliver continued heedlessly. “For some people it’s fear for themselves, fear of things happening to or around them. Maybe a fear of becoming something. Other people, it’s about the ones around us. The people we love. As horrible as the veins were when I first realized what they were it was never as bad as when I saw them wrapping around my father. Which was worse for you: when those flesh-things attacked the Magnus Institute or when your coworkers tore each other apart in your office?”

“Shut up.” Tim tried again to throw himself forward but he barely budged. 

“And that wasn’t even the first time, was it? You just keep losing people, over and over, and that fear just keeps growing worse.”

Tim managed to force one foot forward. It wasn’t even a full step but it was progress. “Stop.”

“You’re not cursed, Tim. Well, in a way I guess you are: the End has had its hooks in you for a while, since before you’d even entered the Magnus Institute.”

Tim faltered mid-step. Melanie, Jon, Sasha, Danny; he’d already noticed he kept losing people. Wouldn’t it be just his luck if it was tied in with Smirke’s fear-gods?

“You have to make a choice just as much as Jon does: you can keep fighting it, feeding the End with your fear of losing everyone you care about; or you can accept it.”

Reflexively, he laughed. “Why? From what I’m seeing all that’ll do is make things worse.”

Oliver shrugged. “Better than sitting back and watching as it keeps happening, right? If it’s going to happen anyway, might as well take control of it.” 

And wasn’t that what Martin had said? Tim shuffled over a step and Oliver waltzed up to take the chair at Jon’s bedside. He smiled down at Jon like he really was an old friend, the same way he’d been smiling at Tim. Tim stood there and listened while Oliver gave his statement, another downer about someone trying to escape only to fall right into the Fears’ clutches, and just…considered it. Oliver didn’t seem to get anything out of his connection, sure, but Elias had suggested Daisy was influenced by a fear of her own and she’d seemed strengthened by it. Towards the end something had been changing in Melanie, something that gave her the power to tear through the macabre flesh puppets like paper. Jon had survived being shot in the head, sort of, and if he leaned into whatever the Beholding was doing to him he might wake up. People were dying around Tim more and more, but if he found a way to let the power in, to take control of it, maybe even direct it towards someone else…

Georgie came in towards the end of Oliver’s statement and Tim half-listened as she interrogated and chased the visitor out. It didn’t matter. He’d done what he came to do. With limited time before she came back, Tim slid back into the chair. 

“Well, boss, we’d better hurry up, hadn’t we? Can’t leave Martin hanging.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still deep in burn-out land but I really wanted to get something posted and the fun Star Wars AU isn't ready yet so have the short dark one-shot ;w;


End file.
